Hunter of the Shadows Book 3

Enemy at the Door.

Chapter 5

Now…

"I think you might be getting the feel for this now, huh?" says Dean, raising an eyebrow at the camera. "Kind of a werewolf 'whodunnit'. Well, that's the way it seemed to us at the time."

He's dressed in black boxer briefs and a Metallica tee-shirt, legs crossed at the ankles, bare feet just a few inches from the lens. His left hand is idly stroking Sam's belly, and the young wolf snorts through his snout, sucks air back in like a straw at the end of the milk shake, and grumbles softly.

Sam, laying on his back, is seemingly asleep, legs up, paws curled up in the classic 'dead dog' pose, tongue hanging down his neck, and snoring away like a lawn mower gone insane. He snorts again, grunts, and the snoring suddenly gets inexplicably louder.

Dean grins fondly. "Hey, Sammy? Can you roll over dude? You're making too much noise."

He gives the wolf a nudge, and is treated to a long wet tongue up the side of his face. Sam, satisfied Dean's been put in his place, finally rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Dean grimaces. "Yeah… wrong way… that's my happy place, dude. Can you…?" he pushes at the wolf, not as gently as before. "Ow! Sam! Move… crushed… walnuts…!"

His voice is getting cut off from the camera's microphone by the ever increasing volume of Sam's snores which, by now, everyone's pretty much figured out, are a complete fake.

Sam makes a huge show of jumping up and looking startled, practically trampling his fatherbrother who is pushed off the bed, disappearing out of shot.

The look on Sam's furry face is that of confusion; of someone who's just been jolted violently awake. But the gleam of mischief in his eyes tells us otherwise.

And Dean obviously isn't so easily fooled either, because he rises from behind the bed, holding what looks to be some kind of pistol.

"Right, that's it," he whispers, menacingly, and cocks the gun.

Sam tries to make a dive for cover, but it's too late. The jet of water hits him square on the snout and he splutters loudly. The squirting goes on, with Dean laughing at Sam's wriggling. Eventually, Sam gives himself a good, hard shake, flinging water droplets everywhere, and jumps off the bed, with Dean following him all the way around the room until the water runs out.

But it's Sam who has the last laugh.

The young wolf jumps up on the other bed and sits on a pillow, grinning widely up at Dean, panting softly.

"What you smilin' at, waterdog?" Dean puts down his 'weapon' and poses smugly like some kind of superhero.

Sam looks down, snout pointing at his dry bed, then glances over to the other decidedly wet one.

The smile on Dean's face drops like a stone when he realises what he's done.

"Sonofabitch!" he murmurs, sulkily. "I wet my own bed."

Sam's tail swishes, lazily, from side to side as if to say Sam, one. Dean nil.

Dean saunters over to the camera and peers into the lens, blocking Sam's view. "Yeah, I know you're gonna miss my handsome face, but once Sammy's changed the sheets" there's a short woof of protest from out of shot "I'll be back".

The audience gets a brief shot of Dean's grin just as Sam leaps from the bed, huge front paws splayed out and landing on the back of Dean's shoulders, taking him down.

The world goes upwards, followed by a loud thump and some expletives, before the screen goes blank.

The screen flickers, and Dean's back, as promised.

"Sam's out getting breakfast with Sire," he says with a boyish grin. "So, now it's just you and me, baby. Wanna hold hands, and talk…?"

Then…

The loaded silence went on until Tobius gestured for them to continue.

That's something I noted in the back of my mind throughout this weird-ass conversation. Sire might not be the Canadian Pack Alpha, or carry any kind of official authority within the Canadian Pack itself, but his brothers respected him, even taking into account the initial tension between him and Crowley. Somehow, I got the feeling it was down to more than just a courtesy extended to another pack alpha, and it was the same feeling I'd felt around the Home Pack.

This was something else to add to my long list of things worthy of pondering over later on.

"We first thought it was all down to Giuseppe, one of the pack elders," said Crowley, his eyes narrowing. "But he supposedly buggered off to Switzerland a month ago. He probably listened in on council chamber meetings through the door or, more likely, was tipped off by someone who was on the council itself, and fled. No one's seen or heard from him since."

"An insider job?" said Tobius, sounding surprised. "And I thought Guiseppe was on the council!"

"Yeah, mate," Crowley stubbed his cigar out on a handy tree. "He was, until he was caught quite literally with his pants down in the Pack Beta's bed. Bloody Italians. Can't keep the mouse in the hole…"

"That's rich coming from you," said Tobius, shortly.

Crowley just grinned, proudly, but didn't say a word.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I exclaimed, reeling from all this. Trying to get everything straight was giving me a headache. "So you…" I stopped as something else suddenly occurred to me. It was a little off topic but I was dying to know, for future reference. "Are you saying it's illegal to sleep with the Pack Beta?"

"It is when the Beta is drunk from his birthday celebrations, unconscious, and most definitely NOT gay," drawled Crowley.

I grimaced.

"Yeah," he noted my response and laughed. "Took him by surprise a bit too, when the Beta woke up the following morning to find a bloke in his bed, instead of his wife. S'enough to freak anyone out..."

"All joking aside," said Castiel, pointedly, and a little angrily it seemed to me. "It turned out that the rich, expensive clients were the ones organising the whole thing, and that includes hiring the Type Ones to round up the Type Twos. They chose lone families, living outside of any major packs, so no one would miss them, but they slipped up one too many times. Pay them enough money and a Type One will do anything for you."

It's also real easy to lose their loyalty, and a disloyal Type One gets sloppy very quickly.

"Exactly," said Crowley, a little smugly. "And since Giuseppe had been stripped of all assets in punishment for his insult, barring his quarters at the pack house, its pretty certain he wasn't the one holding the purse strings for this one."

I snorted. "You don't believe he's in Switzerland. It's a code word for heartless, throatless, and six feet under, right?"

Crowley turned to me with something close to admiration in his eyes. "Well, well, well. You're not just a pretty boy after all." He nodded. "You're right. We think he was intercepted long before he tried to escape the country. Probably by the real organisers to make sure he didn't squeal once he got to safety."

I would have glowered at him, but for some reason I couldn't take offence. Guy was sarcastic, smarmy and even a little slimy, but God help me, in a weird sort of way, I was beginning to like Crowley.

I broke out in a reluctant grin and shook my head.

"And that brings us in full circle to our pack," said Castiel, thoughtfully. "I still think it's a pack elder. They're the only ones rich enough for something like this…"

Silence! Tobius drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. There's someone up ahead. Another five or six miles from here. Dean, stay between Castiel and me. Crowley, you take point.

Right you are, Squire, said Crowley, and partially changed as he stalked slowly through the trees. He didn't bother to undress, I noticed. Instead, his black suit split into several pieces, accompanied by the sound of tearing Velcro and the clothing just fell away.

He winked at me when he saw me watching, produced a plastic Ziploc bag, carefully folded the garments inside it, and stowed them away under a rotten old tree root.

Armani, mate, he explained as he completed his change. Specially made for the discerning non-lunar. Bloody priceless.

He moved out on reconnaissance without another word.

So he was vain as hell, on top of sarcastic, smarmy and slimy.

His fur was similar to Sire's, black and tan, but his ears were speckled like a hyena's, and although he was of a respectable size, he was no where near as big as Tobius, me, or even Sammy.

As Crowlet disappeared into the gloom, I glanced back at Castiel, who'd also changed to wolf form again. Underneath all that blood and mud, his fur was probably a pure white, but it was hard to be sure.

Obviously, I couldn't change. Someone had to carry Sam.

I huddled the kid closer, tighter, keeping his head tucked under my chin, trying to share my bodily warmth with him, while we waited for Crowley's signal.

Either we would move onwards, retreat or attack.

Instead, he came back to us, circling Tobius and whining softly.

It's ok. It's only our boys and girls of the NLSU here for the clean up back at the arena.

What about all those other kids? I asked.

Crowley's eyes shone green as he glanced my way.

They'll be taken back to the pack, bathed, fed, and looked after.

The Alpha will make sure the youngest are given to good pack families, Castiel added. The older ones will be given the option to join the pack. If they choose to leave, they will be provided for.

But I wanted to know what had happened to their own families, the ones they'd lived with before they were taken, and why they couldn't be returned to them.

Can't say I liked the answer.

The NLSU would try to track them down, but in most cases they'd been killed, probably in their beds when the children were kidnapped in the first place, or out in the wilderness, like the brave she-wolf we'd left behind that night. Apparently, it all depended on what kind of playful mood the Type Ones were in at the time, and no doubt that poor woman had been raped over and over before being forced to watch her pups die.

Eventually, we heard the quiet rush of paws, and saw distant, dark shadows moving closer.

We all watched as a small cohort of wolves galloped gracefully on by, their leader, some kind of Captain of the guard, giving Tobius a short, sharp nod.

It was such a seemingly small gesture, but it spoke of the highest respect, which Sire returned easily.

Make sure you report to me as soon as you get back, Captain, ordered Crowley.

Of course, Sir, the Captain replied with another small dip of the head, but there was nothing like the level of respect he'd shown Sire.

I was beginning to wonder more and more about Tobius Le Salle and his secrets.

Guess I should have been pissed by it after all these years, but there was no point in taking it personally because it's not like he keeps his secrets forever. He usually gets around to telling us eventually, or somehow lets us find out for ourselves.

It wasn't a trust issue. It was just him being… him.

Awkward bastard.

We spent another three hours or so trundling through the forest. It was a completely uneventful journey and the three brothers didn't talk much, not even to pass the time or catch up. Which seemed a little strange to me; I'd had the distinct impression Castiel and Crowley hadn't seen Tobius in years.

I found myself wondering what Sam would make of all this, what his first impressions of Sire's brothers would be. It reminded me, yet again, of how much I had come to trust and rely on the kid over the years, of how quickly he'd been forced to grow up and, most importantly, of how he was now fast becoming our equal.

Sam still hadn't stirred in all this time we'd been on the move, his body heavy and limp in my arms. His eyes remained open, fixed, and staring at something I couldn't see. The glowing purple irises were beginning to lose their lustre, becoming dim and dull. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

It's a sign he needs his next hit of Sleepworm, and soon, Castiel informed me when I asked.

I heard him padding along behind, and then suddenly felt his mud-encrusted ears brushing my thigh, comfortingly.

It's not desirable, I know. But we are not far from the pack, nephew.

He at least managed to sound hopeful, which was progress; given that the guy seemed to have shown little emotion in the short time I'd known him.

With dawn not far off, we hit a small, quiet road nestled among the trees. Though snow was falling heavily the road appeared spotless, as though it had recently been cleared and salted.

When I looked to the skies, it seemed like the falling snow melted away to nothing around fifty feet up. It puzzled the hell out of me, so I studied it all a little closer as we moved on.

There was nothing remarkable about the road, just plain, ordinary black top, fairly well used, no street lights or anything, except for a small, unobtrusive, but intricate crest, cast in wrought iron and held aloft on a pole embedded in the embankment. I caught a closer glimpse of this as we slunk on by, and I was more than a little surprised by it:

Three wolves, their tails curled around each other, heads thrown back as if howling at the full moon over their heads.

Hmm.

I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that this was the driveway and main access to Pack HQ. It was kept clear of extreme weather conditions by some kind of weather shield. Apparently, the resident cook, of all people, was responsible for this singular spectrum of spells, and made sure the weather shield covered the entire grounds.

I was curious to meet this cook. Tobius informed me that she was quite the culinary expert and had taught him everything he knew. So weather spells seemed a strange hobby to indulge in.

The Pack itself, Crowley had explained a few miles back, was fairly self-sufficient, and able to get along with little contact or intervention from the outside world. It had its own emergency generator and solar energy panels, a separate water supply coming from straight off the mountains, with individual animal, wheat, arable and fruit farming communities. Just enough sun and rain was allowed in by the weather shields all year round to promise successful harvests.

Christ, it even had its own vineyard.

But there were certain luxuries that had to be obtained from outside the grounds, and a second road, which ran to the rear gates of the grounds, was often used as a service entrance for deliveries of specialised goods.

After Eight Mints, for example, Crowley's eyes practically glowed with lust, and he licked his chops several times. Molton Mowbray Pork Pies, HP sauce, proper Danish bacon…

He'd begun drooling by this point, and Sire ordered him to stop thinking about food and to concentrate on the road.

Thinking about that crest again, I wondered about that wrought iron image of the full moon.

What was with that crest back there? We're non-lunars, after all…

That would be Marcus' bright idea. Sire murmured, looking back at me with an amused gleam in his eye. For the Pack Alpha, he has a rather… unique sense of humour. Don't try to understand. All you'll achieve is an annoying headache.

I heard Crawley's rather derisive snort and glanced over at him, but he just turned away without commenting.

Marcus sounded like quite a character.

But there were more surprises in store before I would get to meet the Pack Alpha.

When we finally arrived at Pack HQ, we were greeted by armed non-lunars at a set of massive, solid iron and oak doors, which also bore the road-side crest but on a much larger scale. The doors were around the height of one of those huge portcullises you get in old castles. Maybe taller. And they were flanked on either side by a large, stone wall which, I was reliably informed, ran around the entire circumference of the pack grounds.

There were markings and sigils etched into the doors, the wall, and even the lock and hinges. If you looked closely enough, you could also make out a large iron devil's trap in front of the doors and guard house, made of black iron dug deep into the soil.

These guys took no chances.

The non-lunars, both male and female, were armed with a mix of crossbows and heavy duty longbows, and carried quivers of what appeared to be silver tipped arrows. Every guard was dressed in black fatigues from head to toe, and the only splash of colour was the white badges of rank they wore on their lapels. Their peak caps were pulled down low, almost completely covering their eyes, making it seem kind of intimidating. Even the FBI might have thought twice about pissing these guys off.

And the big bastard who signed us all in, a sergeant, judging by his stripes, was particularly huge and fierce looking, with his almost burnt dark skin that made his glowing blue eyes all the more startling.

When Crowley and Castiel approached the sergeant, he bowed low and respectfully, and mumbled something in a deep, South African accent. Crowley and Castiel changed back to human form and returned the gesture. More mumbling followed, and then the sergeant stepped back into the guardhouse for a couple of minutes.

He returned holding several soft looking robes in a deep maroon colour, and there was more mumbling.

I wondered if he was just shy, but after Castiel and Crowley dressed in the robes, the sergeant approached Sire.

Now, you have to understand something at this point.

I was tired, hungry, and worried as hell about my boy so, at the time, I wasn't entirely certain I heard it right.

The sergeant mumbled something to Tobius, followed by what sounded like "the Alpha awaits you at your leisure, Your Grace."

That's what I thought I heard.

'Your Grace.'

Now, I'm pretty sure Sire ain't some kind of Bishop.

So, what was he exactly?

I had a feeling this could turn out to be his biggest secret yet.

And then there was the 'at your leisure'. Really? The Alpha of not just any major pack, but Tobius' original family, was willing to be kept waiting until his guests deigned to see him?

Had no idea what the hell this was all about, and I was feeling way out of my depth. But, in hind sight, I guess there had been subtle little clues over the years, tiny hints to suggest that Sire was more than he seemed.

Ya know, former-SAS and non-lunar status aside.

Sammy, you'd better wake the hell up soon, dude. I'm gonna need your input on this.

I just hoped we hadn't wandered into some weird, chicken sacrificing cult that Sire used to head up, or something.

"Master Dean," the Sergeant had moved quick and silent to stand in front of me, holding out a couple of robes. "If you would permit me, I am only too happy to assist in clothing your pup."

I hesitated. The guy seemed friendly enough, and his respectful smile was genuine. But it meant letting go of Sam and I wasn't ready to do that.

"Sergeant Fisher," Sire called out, sensing my mistrust. "Perhaps if you could hold out the robes, Master Dean and I will do the rest?"

"As you wish, Your Grace."

See? I told you, right?

'Your Grace.'

Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that, at a later date, there would be an exchange of words like no other between my Sire and me.

The sergeant bowed again, arms fully extended outwards, robes hanging down from each.

Tobius, who by this time had already donned his own robe, gently took Sam from me. I used the time to quickly tug my robe on, taking a small second to admire just how soft and warm it was, if a little weird and girly, then tie up the belt. Then, between us, we did the same for Sam.

Must admit, I felt a little easier now that Sam's modesty was taken care of, especially when we were about to enter the house of a strange pack, and I hadn't yet completely ascertained whether they were friend or foe. Sure, they walked the walk and talked the talk, but we've been screwed over before by people calling themselves our allies.

I know this is difficult for you, Dean, Tobius murmured, softly as we waited for the huge doors to open for us. And I'm aware that you have many, many questions. I will answer them all, one day. You know I will. He cleared his throat. These are good people, over all, though there may be a small minority to watch out for.

I risked a furtive glance at him.

Oh yeah? Who?

Sire kept looking straight ahead, but answered me promptly.

The elders are particularly old fashioned, not surprisingly, so be careful what you say around them, especially with regard to Sam and his powers. He snorted, inelegantly. They have long memories and are suspicious of anything that might be considered witch craft. They only just tolerate Cook's magic use, and that's only because it's of benefit to them. Remember, in this pack? The death penalty has never been abolished, even if it hasn't been carried out in around one hundred and fifty years. Watch your back, young pup. And Sam's.

He'd got me worried, but I knew Sire would protect us from the others. No way would he have agreed to come here if it was too dangerous, and the Pack Alpha being my uncle kind of helped. In any case, no alpha worth his salt allowed his pack to go around killing their guests. It was considered bad etiquette. While there was no such thing as Diplomatic Immunity within werewolf packs – in the sense that, as Sire had just informed me, we could still be tried and executed for serious enough crimes - guests were to be protected from harm for reasons of courtesy and honour.

The large double doors suddenly opened with a loud clunk, and swung silently inwards. Tobius squeezed my shoulder and winked at me.

Crowley and Castiel swept forward, regally, eyes hard and chins raised.

The way ahead was lined with more armed non-lunars, but this time in what appeared to be some kind of grand dress uniform in red, white and gold. Quite the splash of colour.

I'd never seen anything like it before, and it took every ounce of effort not to stare or let my jaw drop. I didn't want to appear ignorant, but damn you should have seen the place!

It was a pretty grand entrance, with Castiel and Crowley in front, Tobius and I following on behind with Sam, and flanked by the huge Sergeant Fisher and one of his female corporals.

The pomp and ceremony was completely ruined by a small, female puppy wolf with overly large feet bounding out from between the guard of honour, and skidding into the back of Crowley.

Whatever else I'd come to expect of the guy, it wasn't the sudden smile and over dose of affection.

He called a halt and turned to the pup, who was sitting back on its haunches and gazing up at him with wide-eyed adoration.

"What are you doing out here, you little minx?" he called softly and crouched down. "You should be with your mother."

He reached out and scratched behind the pup's ears, rendering it helpless and whining in approval.

"Go on, clear off," Crowley gently pushed the wolf pup away. "Shoo!"

The pup grumbled back at him and strutted away indignantly, tail and head up.

Crowley shook his head. "Youngsters these days. So full of attitude and little else."

Our little procession moved off again, and this time we weren't interrupted.

I only saw a small part of the grounds at that stage, but let me tell you, I was utterly astounded by the sheer size of the place. I'm no judge of architecture, but some of it put me in mind of photos Tobius had once shown me of Vatican City and St Peter's Basilica.

It was pretty cool, with tall columns and Renaissance style statues, water fountains, lush green lawns, and the centrepiece was a huge brass globe about the size of a small car, resting on a white marble base. On the globe, tiny, black wolves danced around the equator, and the Pack crest resided over Canada. A water-filled mote surrounded the entire structure, bubbling merrily away to itself and cascading over marble dolphins into smaller pools further down the lawn.

All of it, everything single statue and water feature, was gracefully illuminated by hidden lamps.

Sounds over the top, maybe, but it sure was peaceful.

Several non-lunars, some in the maroon robes, others naked as the day they were born, lounged around on the grass, talking and laughing quietly, and drinking wine out of black marble goblets. Everyone seemed so relaxed and at ease with life under the grey, winter clouds and night sky, never affected by snow blizzards, howling winds or torrential rain, and knowing they were protected by armed guards and the colossal stone wall.

I looked down at Sam.

You're gonna love this place, Sammy.

We passed on by and came out into a vast rose garden, filled with every manner of flowers and colours. We walked down the centre aisle, towards a large dome shaped building standing on its own at the back.

"This will be your quarters during your stay here," Castiel informed us, and gestured to the large oak door at the top of some ornately carved stone steps. "Any thing you need, just use the desk top computer terminal to send your requests to the serving staff. The email address is already programmed in. They will cater to everything."

Crowley smiled. "Take your time, try the brandy, and have a bubble bath! The doc's on his way to check on Sam, and he's bringing the Sleepworm."

The two brothers didn't follow us up, just waited outside for our doctor. Presumably, he was the guy hurrying along the garden path behind us, carrying a black leather bag, and bearing a serious, worried expression on his face. He looked a little young to be a doctor, but I guess as he was a non-lunar he could have been several hundred years old.

"Doc Taylor-Downs," he called out, voice midway between Crowley's Cockney and Tobius' upper class accent. Barely pausing to even look where he was going, he bounded up the steps to us. "Just call me Dave or Doc. Choice is yours."

In spite of his brusque approach he seemed fairly likeable and friendly. Tall, muscular, and looked to be in his early thirties, Dave's green eyes glowed and clashed with his bright ginger hair.

He took one look at Sam and clucked his tongue, sadly.

"Let's get him inside, poor kid," he said, resting a hand on Sam's forehead and peering into his eyes.

And not before time either. The minute we entered the room, Sam started convulsing in my arms. At first, it was just fine tremors up and down his arms and legs, but it grew into a full on seizure very quickly, and I nearly dropped him.

"Shit!"

I didn't get much of chance to take in the room; just accepted Tobius' help in dragging Sam over to a large four poster bed covered in soft animal furs, and dumped the kid on top.

"Hold his head still, Dean," said Sire, urgently. "I'll get his wrists."

Sam's flailing arms were pinned down by the full strength and weight of a senior werewolf, while I carefully gripped his head between my hands, and talked him through it. Not that he could hear, but it somehow made me feel a little better.

Dave wasted no time in opening his bag and pulling out a syringe.

"Right, that's it," said the doctor, urgently. "Hold him steady for me, now."

He swabbed the inside crook of Sam's left elbow with some kind of alcohol wipe, fixed a hypodermic needle to a syringe filled with a thick, black liquid, and flicked a finger against it, tapping the bubbles upwards. The bubbles moved sluggishly, and when he pushed them out some of the liquid spilled down the side of the syringe.

Sleepworm. It was horrendous; oily, evil smelling and when I looked a little more closely I could swear I saw dark shapes moving and jumping around inside.

Dave caught my eye and nodded. "What you just saw is the result of the blending process. The spells used to prepare this are particularly powerful and not to be trifled with. It also involves some very nasty spirits and they don't always do as they are told."

"And yet you still think shooting my son up with that crap is a good idea?" I demanded, hotly.

"Dean…" Sire growled softly.

The doc smiled sympathetically and gestured to Sam, who was still jerking violently on the bed, now with foam building up behind his teeth.

"This batch is free of suspicious rituals, if that's any consolation," he replied, softly. "Besides, what else would you have me do, sir?"

Filled with anguish, and not at all happy with what we were about to do, I leaned over Sam and whispered in his ear.

"Forgive me, Sammy, please? Just hold on, kid."

TBC...

C'mon. Tell me how much you want the next chapter...

Love ST xxx